<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Affair by Thistlepaw</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25529047">The Affair</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlepaw/pseuds/Thistlepaw'>Thistlepaw</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>South Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Infidelity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:08:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25529047</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlepaw/pseuds/Thistlepaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Craig discovers that his dad has been having an affair, and goes to his boyfriend for help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Light my lamp</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessMyxomatosis/gifts">PrincessMyxomatosis</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story's a present for PrincessMyxomatosis who had some bad news this week. I hope this will make you feel a little bit better, hon! &lt;3</p><p>It's set in "regular" continuity instead of my ghost AU, and the boys are about 10 years old or so. </p><p>Also, in case you're wondering about the Tweaks' choice of music, the version of this song I had in mind seems to have been deleted from YouTube (sadface) but here's the closest version I could find: </p><p>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XrVdN8twxt4</p><p>If you skip to about 1.20, that's when the music and lyrics start up "properly".</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Outside the coffee shop, the sky has long since gone dark. But the moon is huge and bright in the sky, and it’s reflecting off the snow on the sidewalks until it just about gives off sparks. Tweek, who’s been stacking abandoned mugs and plates into the little washbasin he’s got tucked under his left arm, can’t help but stop to look out the front window. Times like this, when everything’s so quiet, it’s like he’s the only person left in the world. Even though Dad’s just in the other room, tallying up the receipts. Tweek lets out a deep breath, and it’s as though the night itself is breathing out alongside him.<br/>
In his back pocket, his phone buzzes and jostles. Feeling slightly guilty for slacking off, Tweek pulls it out. Quickly slides his fingertip through the screen-lock; then taps the blinking message icon.<br/>
<em>I need your help, </em> the message reads – just that, four words. And it’s from <em>Craig. </em><br/>
“Gah,” Tweek yelps, and almost drops his phone right into a half-empty latte. Why on Earth would Craig want help from <em>him? </em><br/>
“What’s wrong now, Tweek,” Dad calls out from the back office, where he’s cashing up. He doesn’t sound like he’s actually that worried, but that’s to be expected – Dad never takes things seriously. It’s just the two of them in here; Mom’s out getting their dinner from City Wok. It’s an unspoken family tradition; if it’s Saturday night and they’ve been so busy in the shop all day that nobody’s had time to swing by home and cook, they’ll treat themselves to takeout. Of course, they only ever order from the vegetarian menu; Buddhism doesn’t exactly gel with deep-fried pork – but it’s not like Tweek’s ever minded that, since he’s never eaten meat in his life. Takeout is still takeout, and he’s been looking forward to spring rolls and rice noodles ever since Mom put her coat and bobble hat on, but now… Now, the letters are swimming on his phone screen, merging with one another, turning into gibberish.<br/>
“Craig sent me a text,” Tweek wails, and there is a thump as Dad’s shoes hit the floor.<br/>
“Did he break up with you,” Dad demands, rushing out into the café proper, a bunch of receipts still clutched in one hand.<br/>
“Nnno,” Tweek growls, through clenched teeth, since he doesn’t want to scream in Dad’s face. “He wants my help! Gah! That’s <em>way</em> too much pressure!”<br/>
“Oh, is <em>that</em> it?” Dad actually laughs a little, as he absently stuffs the receipts in his pocket. “Well, did you text back and say yes yet?”<br/>
Tweek shakes his head. Who does Dad think he <em>is, </em> anyway?! Tweek can’t handle heavy shit like this!<br/>
“You know,” Dad says, “Texting a loved one is like – ”<br/>
“Fine, I’ll do it,” Tweak screams, typing as fast as he can – anything to stop Dad before he launches into one of his <em>stories</em> again. Anything but that. <em>Yes of course anything, </em> he types, <em>I’m at the coffee shop where are you now? </em><br/>
He hits send, and closes his eyes for a second. There. Craig probably won’t text him back for a while, so he might as well go grab the mug and plate off that corner table and – his phone buzzes in his hand. It startles Tweek so much that he screams, and drops it on the floor.<br/>
“I’ll take those for you,” Dad says, jerking his chin towards the shop entrance. Dad’s grinning, though Tweek has no idea why until he turns around. Then, he screams again, because Craig is standing right outside, with his nose pressed against the glass.<br/>
“I told you I was here,” Craig says tonelessly, as Tweek unlocks the door for him. “That’s what I texted you.”<br/>
“Okay.” Tweek hates how squeaky his voice comes out. He steps back to let Craig in, but his boyfriend shakes his head, very slightly.<br/>
“Can we go for a walk,” he says, and something about the way his eyes won’t meet Tweek’s is just… a little scary.<br/>
“Okay,” Tweek says again, feeling the familiar nervousness boiling up inside him, “Let me just – gnk – get my coat.”<br/>
“Craig,” Dad is saying, like Craig is his long-lost favourite son, “You should come back here afterwards. We’re having Chinese food!”<br/>
“Oh,” Craig says, like he’s forgotten that sweet, gloopy takeout even exists. His eyes are flat, and he’s practically got his shoulders up under his ears. “Maybe. Thank you,” he adds, like he’s running on auto pilot. Almost like…<br/>
Tweek runs for the back room, not even bothering to take his apron off, and yanks his coat down from the line of hooks on the wall. He wants to think it was just his imagination, that Craig didn’t <em>really</em> look like he was about to start crying.  </p><p> They walk in silence for a while, they boots making squeaking sounds in the fresh snow. Hand in hand, neither of them wearing gloves. Craig’s hand, normally so warm, is cold and clammy, and Tweek finds himself rubbing it with his thumb. Probably too fast to actually be soothing, though.<br/>
“Craig,” he asks at last, timidly. The streets are mostly empty around them, save for the odd car. It hasn’t snowed since this afternoon, but there are rings around the full moon promising even more snow tomorrow. “Did something happen?”<br/>
“My dad’s having an affair.” Craig drops this bombshell in his usual toneless voice, and keeps right on walking. But his fingers tighten around Tweek’s hand.<br/>
“What?” Tweek’s voice sounds impossibly loud and shrill, out here in the snow. “But,” he goes on, whispering, “But, your dad…”<br/>
“My dad’s on a website called Married But Dating,” Craig says, talking over him. “Once I’d found his profile, it was easy to log in as him. His password is my birthday.” He might as well have been reciting a shopping list, for all the emotion in his voice. But his hand is shaking, sending tremors all the way up Tweek’s arm.<br/>
“Craig,” Tweek says, and stops dead, forcing Craig to stop, too. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” A weird calm has settled over him now. Now that he knows what it is. “What do you want to do?”<br/>
Craig sighs. “I just want to make him stop,” he says, and his voice cracks a little on that last word. He’s looking up at the sky, like he’s just counting the rings around the moon.<br/>
Of course, Tweek could try to hug him. But hugging isn’t something they really do, the two of them. He might startle Craig so much that his boyfriend shoves him away without thinking. Then, he’ll land on his ass in the snow, and there will be one more awkward thing hanging between them. Craig’s already feeling bad enough.<br/>
“Have you told the others,” he asks instead, knowing as soon as those words have left his mouth that of course Craig hasn’t. If he had, he wouldn’t be <em>here</em>.<br/>
Craig shakes his head. “I already know what they’d say. Token would say to stay out of it, and Jimmy would think the only right thing to do would be to tell my mom. And I can’t add any more shit to Clyde’s pile,” he adds, with a little sigh.<br/>
Tweek gets that. Clyde may act all normal in school, but nobody would get over losing a parent just like that. Would you ever? Life without his mom <em> or</em> his dad. Tweek goes cold just thinking about it; even though he’s wearing his puffer coat. In a way, that’s what Craig is facing, too – isn’t it? Because if he does this the Jimmy way, chances are his parents will split up.<br/>
“I can’t deal with this alone, though,” Craig says, and while he’s clearly trying hard to sound like his normal self, his voice is very small.<br/>
Tweek gives Craig’s hand a little squeeze. “Well. I'm going to help you.” He looks at Craig, <em> willing</em>  the other boy to look at him, and when he finally does, Tweek adds, “Even if I don’t know <em>how</em> to help yet,” with his best attempt at a reassuring smile. Being the only one Craig can come to with something so huge… that carries its own amount of pressure. But for once, the pressure doesn’t feel suffocating.<br/>
“Okay,” Craig says, before they turn around and start walking back towards the coffee shop. </p><p> Craig’s not sure how he wound up joining Tweek’s family for dinner. Even though he doesn’t want to go back home right now, it’s not like Tweek’s parents aren’t an annoyance in their own right. His spaced-out mom, his creepily friendly dad – he’s convinced they’re just happy he and Tweek are dating because it makes them look like less awful parents. So what if they let Tweek drink coffee all day every day, even though it makes his ADHD worse? So what if they send him to school looking like he crawled out of a trash compactor? They support him being gay, and that just… washes away all their actual, glaring failings as parents. Not that Craig’s own dad has turned out to be so amazing…<br/>
But still. This is kind of… weirdly relaxing. Sitting on the floor in the back room like this, in a little circle, on a green plastic tarp Mr Tweak’s spread out on the floor. It’s like they’re having a picnic indoors. Tweek’s made a pot of jasmine tea from the same brand Tweak Bros sells to customers, because it “goes better” with Chinese food than coffee would. Just as well, the tea actually tastes nice, and Tweek keeps topping the pot up from the boiling water tap out front, while they all drink out of those tiny espresso cups.<br/>
They’ve each got one of the extra large coffee cups to use as a rice bowl, and Tweek got Craig a fork, too, since he’s never got the hang of chopsticks. In addition to the egg-fried rice, there’s a <em> lot</em>  of food – vegetarian spring rolls, green beans and florets of broccoli in a sticky sauce. Veggie Cho Mein, and some kind of squishy eggplant dish that tastes surprisingly nice. There’s one container with fried tofu nuggets and veggies in sweet and sour sauce, and another where they’re in black bean sauce, and a whole bunch of other stuff, too. Mrs Tweak just shoved a plastic spoon into each of the takeout boxes, and told the boys to help themselves, while Mr Tweak put on a CD. The music sounds like it’s played on flutes and an old hand-crank organ, but who knows. It’s all people chanting in some kind of…  language, but it’s soft enough that it doesn’t bug Craig at all. It’s actually soothing; watching Tweek as he unconsciously bops his head along to some of the singing. Like he’s heard this CD so many times growing up, he knows it all by heart.<br/>
Tweek’s parents are snuggled up on one side of the tarp, his mom leaning into his dad’s side. His dad’s hand, which started out around her waist, has gradually sunk lower while they’ve been eating. Sure, they’re a bit younger than Craig’s own parents; but the difference is still so big. Tweek’s parents are clearly crazy about one another. Craig can’t even remember the last time he saw his own parents acting like that. <em>Touching</em> each other like that.<br/>
“Richie, you pig,” Mrs Tweak murmurs, playfully slapping her husband’s hand away. “Craig, what do you think?”<br/>
“It’s good,” Craig says, because it really is. He’s always thought the Tweak family being vegetarian just added to their weirdness. It’s even been the source of mild annoyance; since he’s half convinced the lack of meat in his diet is stunting Tweek’s growth. He’s honestly surprised by how not gross this food is.<br/>
Next to Craig, Tweek lets out a quiet breath. Craig turns to look at his boyfriend, and Tweek smiles at him, not looking worried at all for once. They’ve just been sitting together, not cuddling or anything because… well, it’s not what they do, and it would make things weird. Craig can just imagine putting his hand on Tweek’s leg, and Tweek shaking it off, just like his mother did. Saying, “Craig, you pig.”<br/>
“I’m glad,” Mr Tweak says; startling Craig so much he actually jumps. “I’m glad you like the food,” he adds, before tilting his head to give his wife a knowing smirk. Any other time, that look on Mr Tweak’s face would piss Craig off something fierce. Look at you, he seems to be thinking, Can’t take your eyes off my son for a second. Glad you like the food, my ass.<br/>
He spears another piece of broccoli on his fork – seriously, how can anyone make broccoli taste this good? It’s got to be MSG – and dips it in the sweet and sour sauce at the bottom of his own big coffee cup. If he’s busy eating, nobody will expect him to talk.<br/>
The CD player makes a clicking sound, as the last track ends and the whole thing starts over again. For want of anything else to do, Craig starts trying to puzzle the words out, but he can’t even figure out what language this is.<br/>
“It’s Sanskrit,” Tweek whispers, edging a little closer. Like he can actually read Craig’s mind. “This one means something like…” he bites his lip for a second; and looks down on his food, “Light my lamp from your lamp.”<br/>
“Huh,” Craig says, as the chant swells behind them. Tweek’s parents are actually quietly singing along to bits of it, and it reminds him of Clyde’s parents singing hymns together in church. Sharing one of the song books and holding it up together, their voices blending. But that was a while ago. Clyde’s mom is dead now, and Clyde’s long since stopped trying to drag along Craig to church.<br/>
“That’s nice, honey,” Craig whispers back to Tweek, who looks up at him sharply – like he’s looking for signs that Craig is making fun. But how can Craig explain this feeling – like, when he walked through town in the snow to get to Tweak Bros, hands jammed in his pockets because he’d left the house in such a hurry that he’d forgotten his gloves. When all he could think about were the messages his dad had written to that woman – things like <em> “I miss you,” </em>  and <em> “I need to see you,” </em>  – while it slowly got dark around him. And then; how Tweek had run outside to walk next to him. How he’d slipped his warm little hand inside Craig’s hand. The way he’d said Craig wouldn’t have to sort this out alone. Everything really had seemed a lot brighter after that.<br/>
“I mean it,” Craig says, craning his neck so he can look right into Tweek’s eyes. Willing the other boy to understand; this is him saying thanks. “It’s nice.”<br/>
Tweek’s features slowly relax. “I can totally send you the mp3,” he says. He never smiles like this in school.<br/>
Craig nods – and then, before he can think twice about it, he blurts out, “Can I sleep over?”</p><p> Craig’s never actually been inside the Tweaks’ white Datsun before, and it’s not like he was even expecting anything special, but there’s a… smell. It’s not unpleasant, just sort of spicy. Do they burn incense in here? He could sort of picture them meditating if they get stuck in a traffic jam…<br/>
Mrs Tweak rides in the front with her husband, talking quietly on the phone with Mom. Just ironing out the details, probably, since there’s no reason Mom should say no. Craig and Tweek get the back seat to themselves – not that they can really talk about Craig’s dad like this. They hold hands across the empty middle seat, just out of habit, Craig supposes. His own hand feels just as jittery as Tweek’s now, which is weird.<br/>
“You can borrow clean PJ’s from me,” Tweek whispers, giving Craig’s hand a little squeeze.<br/>
“Okay babe,” Craig replies. He remembers the first time he called Tweek “babe”; in a text message. Completely by accident. He’d started at the screen, feeling his own jaw slowly dropping as he realised he’d already hit “Send”; that there was nothing he could do. So embarrassed he’d felt like he could literally have dropped dead on the spot. Only for Tweek to respond with just an “OK” and a smiley face, like he hadn’t found it weird at all.<br/>
“Jasmine tea’s really caffeinated, you know,” Tweek says, with a little grin, nodding down at their knotted, shaking hands. He’s obviously noticed. “I should’ve told you before. You might have a hard time sleeping tonight.”<br/>
“Don’t think I could sleep anyway,” Craig mutters, and turns his head to look out the window.<br/>
As soon as Mr Tweak has pulled up in their driveway, Tweek’s popped the door and jumped out into the snow. “Wait until I’ve killed the engine,” Tweek’s dad snaps; like Tweek does this all the time. “I’ve told you how dangerous– ” It’s the closest to annoyed Craig’s ever heard the guy, but Tweek just bangs the door shut before his dad’s finished talking. And Mrs Tweak sighs, very quietly.<br/>
Craig waits until Mr Tweak’s popped his own door before he even loosens his seatbelt; won’t do for him to get himself yelled at when he’s their guest. Especially not tonight; he really doesn’t want piss Tweek’s parents off bad enough that they decide to take him back home. Through the windshield, he can already see Tweek unlocking the front door, his school bag tucked under one arm.<br/>
It’s kind of sweet, how excited Tweek is to have him spend the night. As soon as they’ve both got their coats and winter boots off, and Tweek’s frisbee’d his school bag under the saggy-seated chair in the hallway, he drags Craig upstairs. “You have to shower first,” he says, pulling one of his drawers open one-handed, because he’s still holding on to Craig’s hand. As usual, Tweek’s bedroom is a total disaster area; maybe he wants Craig out of the way so he can tidy up a little. “Hah! Here you go!” Tweek triumphantly holds up a bundle of blue and white fabric for a second, before he shoves it at Craig.<br/>
“Thanks,” Craig mutters, cradling it awkwardly against his chest. He’s still holding on to Tweek’s hand, after all.<br/>
Mrs Tweak gives him a clean towel, sky blue and fluffy, as well as a brand new toothbrush with a navy blue handle. “We have a whole supplies closet downstairs,” she says, waving away Craig’s thanks. “<em>Someone</em> just can’t bear the thought of running out of dental floss or toilet rolls,” she adds, throwing a big, teasing grin her husband’s way as he climbs down the ladder from the attic dragging a foldable camp bed.<br/>
“You’ll thank me for it when the zombie apocalypse strikes, honey,” Mr Tweak fires back, and he’s grinning too – like they’ve had this argument, or whatever it is, a hundred times already. “Tweek! You tidied the traps away yet,” he goes on, and his tone tells Craig that this, too, has been said many, many times before.<br/>
“Gah,” Tweek shouts from within his room, “Nearly!”<br/>
Craig can’t not ask; “Traps?”<br/>
“For the underpants gnomes,” Mrs Tweak replies, matter-of-factly. “Now, why don’t you go have that shower?”</p><p> It’s a nightly ritual that one of his parents will read to him in bed – mostly because it calms him down, Tweek supposes, and stops him from building more gnome traps out of Lego and twine. Mom will usually stick to the same book until they’ve finished it together – right now, they’re almost at the end of 101 Dalmatians – while Dad’s choices are a bit more random. Sometimes, it’ll be a kids’ book, and sometimes grown-up writers like Erich von Daniken or Lobsang Rampa, who Dad says only write fairytailes anyway. And sometimes, like tonight, he’ll just make a story up from scratch.<br/>
They’ve pushed Craig’s folding bed right up close to the side of Tweek’s bed, so if Tweek wakes up during the night and needs to pee, he’ll have to slide down the whole way and climb out via the foot end. Not that he minds. Dad’s made-up stories are usually pretty scary, so it’s nice to have Craig close enough that he can just grab his hand if he needs to.<br/>
“Now Craig,” Dad is saying, “Before your sister was born, do you remember your mother eating anything strange?”<br/>
Craig, propped up on one elbow, seems to give this some serious thought. He’s wearing his hat to bed; even though his head must be roasting under there. Either way, it goes with the pyjamas, which are technically Tweek’s new set. They have never been slept in before, though. Tweek found them the last time Mom brought him along to Target; and he got them two whole sizes bigger than his own, just to make sure they’d fit Craig’s long legs. Blue pants with white piping, a white-sleeved blue sweater, and a pile of sleepy brown guinea pigs right in the middle of the chest area. “She ate garlic,” Craig says at last. “It made her breath smell <em>so</em> bad. And she drank <em>all </em>the orange juice,” he adds, sounding a little miffed at the memory. “I almost never got to have any with my breakfast.”<br/>
“Well that hardly seems fair,” Dad tells him, reaching for the light switch and turning the ceiling light off, abruptly plunging the room into darkness, “But at least that wasn’t as weird as the pregnancy cravings Tweek’s mother had.” He lowers his voice as he spins Tweek’s desk chair around, and sits down on it backwards. His long legs stretch out, spider-like, across the floor. “The one strangest of them all,” he switches Tweek’s desk lamp on, but angles it down, so the light ends up casting twisted shadows on the walls, “Was her craving for human flesh.”<br/>
“What,” Tweek yelps, grabbing not Craig’s hand, but his entire arm, and squeezing it hard.<br/>
“Craig,” Dad goes on, very seriously, “Tweek may have mentioned how he’s got two uncles – my older and younger brother?”<br/>
Craig nods, while he gently untangles his arm from Tweek’s death grip. “Yeah,” he takes Tweek’s hand instead, “I’ve seen some photos? You all looked the same,” he adds, with a little shrug. Tweek remembers how funny Craig had found that – maybe because he and his own sister look so different.<br/>
“Mm, that’s right,” Dad says, “But, ah… There <em>was</em> actually a fourth Tweak brother once. Though we don’t really talk about him.”<br/>
“What was his name,” Tweek asks breathlessly, not at all sure he believes this, but helplessly curious all the same.<br/>
“Ronald,” Dad tells him immediately. “Ronald Tweak. Now, Ron was always getting into trouble with the police, and every time he’d messed up a little too badly, he’d move back in with our parents. They were getting pretty sick of that, by the time…”<br/>
“By the time <em>what, </em>” Tweek demands, almost beside himself with the need to <em>know</em>.<br/>
“By the time we were expecting <em>you, </em>” Dad replies, reaching out to muss his hair before Tweek can pull away. “Now, at the time, Craig, Tweek’s mother and I were <em>also</em> staying with my parents. They were a <em>lot</em> happier about that, though, since we were working for them, <em>and</em> they’d be getting their first grandchild out of it. Ron was still laying low, and couldn’t be seen in public – our mother told me afterwards that he’d been in hiding out after a botched bank robbery.”<br/>
“Whoa.” Craig sounds impressed, almost in spite of himself, but Tweek is having completely the opposite reaction – a bank robbery?! Botched or not, the fact that he once had an <em>uncle</em> willing to <em>do</em> something like that… What was that thing he read, about criminal tendencies being <em>genetic?! </em> Maybe one day, <em>he’ll</em> be the one staring down the barrel of a gun at some poor, frightened bank teller – at least he’ll know how he <em>got</em> there, thanks to Dad!<br/>
“Shh, babe,” Craig says, and Tweek suddenly realizes he must’ve said most of that, if not all of it, out loud. Dad’s mouth is hanging open, and Tweek’s dad isn’t exactly easy to shock, so maybe all of it. “Don’t you wanna know what happened next?”<br/>
“Uh,” Tweek says, because he honestly isn’t sure anymore – but then, Craig seems to be pretty curious, and Craig’s their <em>guest, </em> so it would be rude to just… “Yes,” he forces himself to say, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too pinched or unnatural. “I do. Please.”<br/>
“Okay, then.” Dad rubs his hands for a second, and frowns like he’s trying to jog his memory. “Well anyway, Ron <em>was</em> good at making things with his hands; in fact he always got top marks in shop-class at school, so he’d volunteered to make you a little crib, Tweek. Our dad had a workbench set up in the garage, and that was where Ron started sawing up the wood and so on. Now, this happened on a Sunday, so the coffee shop was closed, and the rest of us had all eaten our lunch back at the house. We thought Ron must’ve been too preoccupied with working on that crib to keep an eye on the time, so Helen volunteered to bring him a plate of food and a beer. I didn’t think anything was off at first, but when half an hour had gone by she still hadn’t come back…”<br/>
“Oh Jesus,” Tweek whispers, squeezing Craig’s hand as hard as he dares.<br/>
“Shh, honey,” Craig whispers back, sliding his other hand on top of Tweek’s.<br/>
“When I walked into the garage from the house,” Dad is saying, “The first thing I smelled was beer. I looked down, and there was a small pile of broken glass on the floor. One piece had almost the whole Heineken label stuck to it. And then, Tweek, I heard your mother say, “He cut his thumb,” only it came out all garbled because she was talking with her mouth full. And <em>that’s</em> when I looked up and saw…”<br/>
“Saw <em>what, </em> Richard Tweak?”<br/>
Tweek can’t <em>not</em> scream, but it’s only Mom. She’s standing in the doorway, leaning against it while she taps her foot. Backlit from the hallway lamps, her brown hair seems to glow almost orange.<br/>
“Uh, well…” Dad clearly wasn’t expecting the interruption, but he manfully tries to salvage his story anyway, “<em>You</em> know! You were there!”<br/>
“Pfft,” Mom scoffs, and walks all the way inside, perching on the foot end of Tweek’s bed and pulling him halfway into her lap – and Tweek is so relieved that he scrambles the rest of the way up there himself, never mind that Craig’s watching him. “You’re supposed to put them to sleep, not scare them so they’ll be up all night.” Mom’s all warm and reassuring to lean against, and she smells of coffee beans and that floral shampoo she likes. Tweek can already feel his pulse starting to slow down.<br/>
“I thought it was kinda funny,” Craig suddenly says, out of nowhere. Funny?! Tweek didn’t see him so much as crack a smile, but then, it can be hard to tell with Craig sometimes.<br/>
“Well, there you go!” Dad’s clearly delighted with Craig’s response, because he slaps his knees and jumps to his feet, all re-energized. He musses Tweek’s hair again, before he says, “Now remember, son – if you come down for breakfast tomorrow, and you see me missing an ear, or maybe even a whole arm, you’ll know you’re getting a little brother or sister!”<br/>
“Missing an ear, my… butt,” Mom growls, and Dad takes the hint and hurries outside. “Now get <em>your</em> butt back under the covers, and I’ll tuck you in,” she tells Tweek, with a quick yank on his nose to make him smile. Mom tucks in Craig afterwards, too, and even snatches his hat right off his head, to Craig’s obvious shock. “It’s right here if you need it,” she tells him, putting the hat down on top of the duvet. “Good night, boys!”<br/>
They both answer “good night” too, and Tweek waits until he’s heard Mom go down the second step from the top – which creaks – before he flips over on his side. “So,” he whispers, “What do you want to do? About your dad, I mean,” he hurriedly adds, in case Craig thinks Tweek is asking him to <em>make out</em> or something.<br/>
Craig seems to think about it, <em>properly</em> think about it, as he picks his hat up and slowly pulls it back on. “I want to make him <em>stop, </em>” he says again, with one last tug on the tassels. “And I don’t want my mom to find out.”<br/>
Tweek closes his eyes and lets out a sigh; this is something he can work with. “All right,” he says, before he slides his hand out from under the covers and starts looking for Craig’s hand in the dark. “I might have an idea.”<br/>
“Okay?” Here in the dark, Craig’s given up on sounding like he doesn’t care. In fact, he sounds so hopeful that it’s starting to make Tweek nervous, because what if his idea doesn’t work?<br/>
“Right,” Tweek says, drawing a deep breath. He can’t back out now, no matter how much pressure this is. “So. You said his login was your birthday?”<br/>
“Uh-huh?”<br/>
“Okay, so what if we message her from your dad’s account; and make her think he wants to meet up? We’ll get her to come to Tweak Bros, and then you can tell her to leave your dad alone. I mean, if he lied about having kids, just seeing you might convince her to break it off, you know?”<br/>
Craig snorts. “Seeing Tricia might. It’s not like <em>I</em> look anything like him. But it’s a good idea,” he adds, and Tweek can suddenly breathe deeply again. “Thanks, honey.”<br/>
Craig’s hand suddenly comes sliding up under Tweek’s duvet, and Tweek grabs it, sqweezing it tight. “Good,” he says fiercely, feeling a quick flare of anger that Craig’s big, friendly dad could do something like this; that he could hurt his own son so badly without even a second thought. “I’ve got your back Craig.” <em>I’ll always have your back, </em> he thinks, as his eyes slide shut.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I'll be waiting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's been a while between chapters - sorry about that! But I hope you enjoy this one!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Craig ends up doing the typing, on Tweek’s creaky old laptop, while they’re both still in their PJ’s. It’s six thirty in the morning, and aside from taking turns running to the bathroom to pee, neither of them has left Tweek’s bedroom. Tweek hasn’t even gone downstairs to make coffee. So he’s all sleepy, curled up on his side and with only half an eye open, one arm dangling off the edge of the bed. His hair is a big, cloudlike mess on his head, and it’s probably soft as a cloud, too. Craig wouldn’t mind running his fingers through it, just to see, but that’s not the sort of thing they do.<br/>
“I thought you guys always get up early,” he says, just to say something, “To open Tweak Bros?”<br/>
“Mm,” is Tweek’s only reply. He flops over on his back, brings one hand up to push the hair out of his eyes, and winds up leaving it on his forehead so that his elbow points up at the ceiling. Like the tip of a triangle, 180 degrees. “Can you read that back,” he mutters, so quietly that Craig, who’s sitting on the floor and leaning against Tweek’s bedframe, can barely hear him.<br/>
“Sure.” Craig’s eyes skim across the open Notepad document he’s decided to draft their message in, before he’ll even think about copy-pasting it into the waiting, empty DM. Just in case he accidentally hits “Send” in the middle of typing the damn thing up. “Can you meet me today,” he reads aloud, doing his best to keep any and all feeling out of his voice. “At a café called Tweak Bros. It’s important.”<br/>
“Nn,” Tweek grunts, before rolling over on his belly. “Doesn’t sound right. It’s not,” he yawns hugely, revealing twin rows of perfectly straight teeth, “Romantic enough.”<br/>
“Oh yeah?” Craig can’t help it if he sounds a little defensive. “So what do <em>you</em> think I should write?”<br/>
“How about…” Tweek closes his eyes again, and for a second or two Craig actually thinks he’s fallen asleep. “I have to see you today. Please. When can you come? I’ll be waiting here.” And then, just paste in the Google Maps link.”<br/>
“Huh.” He’s got to admit that <em>does</em> sound a lot better. “Okay,” Craig says, as he hits Ctrl+A and then erases his own draft, “Let’s go with what you said.” Then he logs into Dad’s profile, and the bedding rustles as Tweek sits up so he can see better.<br/>
“There’s no pictures,” Tweek mutters, resting his chin on one knee. His other leg dangles, sweeping a little arch across the floor before it bumps against Craig’s side. Once, then again… It’s not irritating or anything, so Craig decides to just leave him to it while he pastes Tweek’s message into the dialog box. But Dad’s convo with this <em>lady, </em> who calls herself “Miss Fussypants”, is so <em>long. </em><br/>
“I guess this shit’s too top secret for photos,” Craig drawls, doing his best to sound like it doesn’t bother him at all. “Dad’s got a description in his profile. Of what he looks like, I mean,” he clarifies when Tweek doesn’t reply. “It’s weirdly honest. He even wrote that he’s thinning on top.”<br/>
“And is he honest about having a <em>family, </em>” Tweek growls. He sounds surprisingly pissed for someone who can barely keep his eyes open.<br/>
“They’re all married on this damn website,” Craig reminds him, before he hits “Send.” There’s no turning back now. “I’m going to log in as him on my phone. That way we’ll know right away when she replies.”<br/>
“But, but what if your dad logs in <em>first, </em> and sees that message that <em>he’s</em> supposed to have sent?!” Tweek’s feet thump as they hit the floor; he’s suddenly wide awake. “Jesus!”<br/>
“Then he’ll know someone’s on to him,” Craig replies, with a calm he doesn’t feel. He shuts Tweek’s laptop and shoves it under the bed, which is where Tweek seems to keep the thing. “Relax, honey. My family’s going all the way out to that petting zoo that’s halfway to <em>Denver. </em> He’s gonna be too busy to log in.” Craig was supposed to go too, of course. He’d even been looking forward to it all week, seeing the goats and the tame deer again. But now, just the thought of being with his family and having to act normal is making him feel sick.<br/>
On his way to Tweek’s desk chair, where he stacked his clothes last night, Craig catches a glimpse of his reflection in the window. For the first time, he realizes that he’s wearing guinea pig pyjamas. “Honey,” he says, pulling the sweater out so he can get a look at the pile of guinea pigs printed on it. “Did you get this for me?” Craig hates how his voice cracks on that last word – but it can’t be helped, if Tweek’s gone and done something so damn sweet.<br/>
“Uh, kinda?” Tweek scratches the back of his head, messing up his hair even more. He looks like one of those troll dolls now. “My mom wanted to get me new PJ’s at Target. So I hid my size behind some Buzz Lightyear pyjamas, and got the size up.” Tweek smiles sleepily up at Craig. “I told Mom it’d be more practical if I got a pair I could grow into.”<br/>
How long ago was that, Craig wants to ask. How long has Tweek been waiting for him to come sleep over? But what he says instead, is “Pfft, like you’ll ever grow. You’ll be a midget forever.”<br/>
“And you’ll always be an asshole,” Tweek counters, leaning in until they are standing nose to nose. He’s totally grinning, though, so at least he could tell that Craig was only kidding. “Come on, <em>now</em> I get to have coffee.”</p><p> The heavenly scent of freshly brewed coffee is already seeping out from the kitchen and into the hallway, as Tweek runs barefoot down the stairs. Craig follows right behind him, with his pyjama top swapped out for Tweek’s dark green hoodie with the pocket on the front. That’s where he’s got his phone stashed, set to ding when The Lady replies to them. Craig’s even set up that message tone that’s on a frequency grown-ups can’t hear. Not that Tweek wants to think about The Lady right now; not when he can smell pancakes as soon as he’s pulled the kitchen door open.<br/>
“Morning, kiddo,” Mom says from over by the stove. She’s wearing that grey “Paris” sweatshirt over her nightie, the one she bought at Target the same time they picked up those guinea pig pyjamas. The letters are so thick and swirly that Tweek <em>and</em> Dad had both thought it said “Pants” instead of “Paris” at first. “Morning, Craig! Did you sleep okay?”  Mom’s sliding a finished pancake onto the stack in front of her, and Tweek can feel his mouth start to water.<br/>
“I slept just fine, Mrs Tweak,” Craig’s got his normal flat voice back, which is kind of a relief. He frowns. “Why does your sweater say “Pants”?”<br/>
“It doesn’t,” Mom exclaims, more startled than offended, “It says “Paris”! There’s the dot over the “I”, see?”<br/>
“Hah! We <em>told</em> you it looks like “Pants”, honey,” Dad says, from over by the coffee maker. He’s fully dressed already, and he must’ve sensed Tweek coming, because he’s got all three of their favourite mugs lined up. There’s Mom’s mint green one with the polkadots and the gold rim, Tweek’s green tartan mug and his own World’s Best Dad mug that Dad actually bought for <em>himself</em> at a car boot sale. Tweek dimly registers that Dad’s not wearing his sweater properly; the left sleeve is empty and flutters as he turns around. “Morning, son,” he beams, holding Tweek’s mug out handle first. “Your mother and I have exciting news for you!”<br/>
Suddenly, Tweek remembers what Dad said last night, about how he’d know if Mom… He can feel his mouth slowly sliding open, and his hands, which had been reaching out for his mug, drop to his sides. “Wait,” he croaks, “You don’t mean…”<br/>
“She even swallowed my wedding ring!” Dad sounds surprisingly cheerful, all things considered, “But hopefully she’ll pass that in a week or so!”<br/>
“Richard,” Mom snaps from over by the stove, just as Tweek realizes Dad’s had his arm tucked inside his sweater this whole time.<br/>
“Gah, <em>Dad, </em>” he growls, but Dad’s already put Tweek’s mug down on the counter, and now he grabs Tweek with both hands, tickling him until he shrieks with laughter.<br/>
It hits him though, after Dad’s <em>finally</em> let him have his coffee, how quiet Craig has gone. Tweek walks over to him, blowing on his mug. What can he <em>say, </em> when Craig looks like he’ll never be happy again? His parents totally can’t tell; but Tweek doesn’t think they’re oblivious – he reckons that, to most people, Craig is probably just kind of hard to read.<br/>
“You don’t want coffee, do you,” Tweek asks.<br/>
“No.” Craig immediately shakes his head. “Thanks,” he adds, obviously as an afterthought.<br/>
“We’ve got something else you might like, though, Craig.” Mom’s started to rummage through the cabinet where they keep all their different coffees – bags of different beans, bags of various Tweak Bros blends, even a few store-bought blends because they’re not <em>all</em> bad. The boxes of tea are shoved right to the back, along with a tall, tube-shaped box that Tweek hasn’t registered before – that’s the one Mom pulls out. “Your mother gave me this for Christmas,” she says, holding the box out so Craig can see it. “Chili hot chocolate” it says on the front; and Tweek has never heard of a more disgusting flavour in his life. But Craig’s eyes light up when he sees it.<br/>
“Oh,” he says, “Yeah. That one’s good.”<br/>
After Mom’s used up all the pancake batter and Dad heated up some milk in the steamer jug for that weird hot chocolate, and Tweek’s got all three of the jam jars out of the fridge, it’s time to eat.<br/>
“She told me you’ve always liked spicy things,” Mom says, putting that tall, round tin down on the table in front of Craig. “Your mother, I mean.”<br/>
“Yeah,” Craig says, spooning some of it into his mug of hot milk. He starts to stir it, and his eyes are a million miles away.<br/>
“So,” Dad says brightly, “Are you boys up for a trip to the petting zoo today?”<br/>
<em> “What?!” </em> Tweek chokes on his first mouthful of pancakes with strawberry jam, and Craig comes out of his daze to thump him lightly across his back. But if they go to the petting zoo, the whole <em>plan</em> will unravel, not to mention that’s where Craig’s dad will be…<br/>
“No thank you,” Craig replies, slowly and precisely, “Tweek and I have stuff we need to do. Secret boyfriend stuff,” he adds, and he doesn’t even blush when he says that last bit.<br/>
“Oh really?” Dad looks over at Mom with one eyebrow raised – what does he <em>think</em> they’re going to do, <em>make out?! </em><br/>
Mom covers her mouth with one hand, but from the way her eyes crinkle up, you can still totally tell that she’s smiling. “I see,” she says, and her tone is infuriatingly calm. Like she’s just waiting for Tweek to open his mouth and blurt out exactly what their secret is.<br/>
“Is, is that okay,” Tweek asks, hating how squeaky his voice has gone. “You guys could, you could go on a <em>date, </em>” he adds, blurting that last bit out as soon as the idea’s entered his head.<br/>
“A date, huh?” Mom rests her chin on her hand, and gives Dad an odd sort of look. “It’s been a while since we’ve had one of those.”<br/>
“Sunday matinee at the Bijou,” Dad asks her, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe eat at City Wok, instead of getting takeaway?”<br/>
“You sure know how to make a girl feel special,” Mom replies, but from that lazy smile on her face, Tweek can totally tell that she’s saying yes.<br/>
Then he hears it, a single clear “ding” that his parents don’t react to at all. He sees Craig slide his phone out under the table, and when he looks back up, he gives Tweek a tiny, superfast nod. This is really happening. Oh Jesus. They’re really going to do this. </p><p> As the two boys step inside the coffee shop, Craig spots an abandoned book lying on the counter. When he gets a closer look, Craig recognizes their algebra textbook from school – it must be Tweek’s then. Tweek confirms this a second later by saying, “Oh, that’s where it went! My dad was helping me with homework yesterday,” he goes on, as he picks up the book and hands it to Craig.<br/>
Craig suddenly remembers how Tweek had his school bag with him last night – how he’d chucked it under that chair in the hallway. Right, so that was why. Craig would never have guessed that Tweek’s dad could be bothered to do something like that. Now that he thinks about it, though, Tweek’s never handed in a maths assignment late. And his grades for maths are usually pretty good, which has always struck Craig as odd, since Tweek spends your average maths lesson grunting and eating his own pencil.<br/>
Being inside Tweak Bros when it’s empty like this… It’s weird, Craig decides. He’s hung around here plenty of times after they’ve closed up for the day, but even then, at least one of Tweek’s parents has always been there. It’s almost eerie, without Tweek’s mom behind the till, or his dad hovering over the coffee machines.<br/>
Speaking of weird… Craig’s been pretty quiet for most of their walk here, which he feels bad about. It’s obviously made Tweek even more nervous about putting their plan into action; though calling it a plan is probably a bit of a stretch. They’re just going to make it look like Tweak Bros is open and running like normal, so The Lady, as Tweek keeps calling her, won’t suspect. Tweek’s helping him out <em>so much, </em> even lying to his parents for Craig’s sake, and you don’t have to be a mind reader to see that Tweek feels super bad about that. That’s part of it, though – Tweek’s parents – part of what Craig’s needed to think about. Because he’s always just told himself that they don’t care about Tweek, that he probably ruined whatever life plans they had because they’re way younger than Craig’s own parents, and Tweek’s told Craig himself that he was an unplanned baby. But last night… it hadn’t just been the obvious stuff, like Mrs Tweak pulling Tweek into her lap for a cuddle. Craig remembers how Mr Tweak had yelled at Tweek for jumping out while the car was still moving, and of course that had been dangerous, but… nobody gets that annoyed if they don’t <em>care</em> about the person jumping out of their car. Craig doesn’t like to admit he’s wrong, but he also used to think Dad loved Mom, so there you go…<br/>
Even stuff like unlocking the glass door got weird and awkward, because there are two locks in that thing and Tweek couldn’t reach the top one on his own. He kept trying, standing on tip-toe, but Craig had to lift him by the waist in the end – otherwise they’d still be standing out there in the snow when The Lady shows up. And their whole plan hinges on her not knowing that Tweak Bros is actually closed.<br/>
“We – nn – we always close on Sundays, you know,” Tweek is saying, while he’s doing <em>something</em> to the coffee machine. “Since everyone but us will just be in church, anyway.”<br/>
“<em>My</em> family doesn’t go either,” Craig tells him, a little reproachfully. “We’re atheists.” Tweek should <em>know</em> that.<br/>
Tweek doesn’t really seem to be paying attention, though. He’s got the machine making a sound like a bulldozer, as it starts grinding up the beans in that transparent compartment on the side. Craig can definitely see the level of beans sinking, and so can Tweek, because he’s reaching under the table for a folded-over coffee sack. Those things are roughly the size of a big pillow, and they’re packed pretty tight with beans. This one’s only half full, though, so Tweek’s got no problem picking it up and pouring more beans into the gaping chute of the machine. He’s even humming.<br/>
“What’re <em>you</em> so happy about,” Craig asks, and a little bit of annoyance seeps into his words.<br/>
“Gah!” Tweek gives a guilty twitch, “I’m sorry! It’s just fun to, to be able to make whatever I <em>want, </em> you know?”<br/>
Ugh, why is he being like this? When Tweek’s bending over backwards to help him out? Craig closes his eyes and draws a deep breath. “I didn’t mean it like that, honey,” he says. “You don’t have to be sorry.” <em>I’m the one who should be sorry, </em> he thinks but doesn’t say.<br/>
“Oh, okay!” Tweek just smiles and shrugs; and Craig knows he’s been instantly forgiven. That’s one thing he likes about Tweek – he doesn’t do grudges. Well, not unless you’re talking about Cartman and the rest of Stan’s gang, but that’s more self-preservation than grudge, as far as Craig is concerned. He grabs one of the big mugs, with a Tweak Bros logo that’s starting to fade, and quickly heats up some milk in it with the steamer, instead of using the jug like Craig knows he’s supposed to. He watches as Tweek puts two shot-glasses under the little two-headed spout of the coffee machine, then tip them both into his mug. But when Tweek puts the shot-glasses right back under there and starts the process of filling them up again, Craig reaches across the counter and grabs his arm.<br/>
“Babe,” he says, very seriously, “You’d be small even for a <em>hobbit. </em> Are you <em>sure</em> you should be drinking that much coffee?”<br/>
“If it’s not Mom, it’s you,” Tweek groans, but he does pour out one of the espresso shots – the last one finds its way into his mug anyway. He shrugs. “I’m using a big mug, so…” It’s clearly an excuse, but Craig’s got something else on his mind now.<br/>
“What did you mean,” he demands, “Comparing me to your <em>Mom? </em>” Because that’s <em>really</em> weird.<br/>
“Ngh, no,” Tweek shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant!” He takes a sip, and then another, of his freshly made coffee, and it’s like Craig can <em>see</em> the other boy’s heart rate slow down.  His shoulders sink down, anyway; and Tweek looks downright <em>relaxed</em> when he says, “It’s just that I’m not allowed more than two shots.”<br/>
Craig blinks. “Huh? But don’t your parents basically <em>force</em> you to drink coffee?”<br/>
Tweek snorts; and he looks like he’s about one joke away from laughing his flat little ass off. “Dude, I was trying to drink out of Mom’s cup when I was like, a year old! I mean, we saw this doctor for my ADHD, and he said letting me have some coffee might <em>help</em> with that? But by then I’d already figured out how coffee machines work, so…” With a shrug, Tweek drains maybe half the mug, and lets out a deep, contented sigh. “Dad’s always asking me if I wanna have an ulcer by the time I’m fourteen.”<br/>
“Oh,” Craig says at last. Craig’s been used to categorizing people simply under “Like” and “Don’t like”; and of course there are way more people in the second category than in the first. He feels almost… disappointed by Tweek’s answer, because if he’s being honest, Craig <em>prefers</em> things to be black and white, good and bad. For Tweek’s parents to exist in some kind of “irritating but not so bad after all” grey zone is… Well, it’s pretty damn annoying, is what it is.<br/>
“Anyway, maybe you should – ngh – sit down somewhere? I’ll make you something.” Tweek, who’s dug out a post-it pad and a Sharpie, seems to have his mind firmly back on the not-quite-a-plan. “And I’ll act like I don’t know you that well,” he goes on, while he writes on the top post-it. When Craig cranes his neck, he can just about see that Tweek’s written “OUT OF ORDER” in messy, scratchy capitals. Tweek tapes the post-it down on top of the card machine, securing it with tape while he grunts with concentration. He looks up, like he can sense Craig’s unspoken question, and says, “Card transactions can be – gah! – traced, you know? So if she buys something, I’ve <em>got</em> to make sure she pays in cash!”<br/>
Craig nods. “Makes sense,” he says, before he walks over to the table that’s <em>right</em> in front of the till, and pulls a chair out. This puts him smack-bang in the middle of the empty shop, but it also puts him right in front of Tweek, so his boyfriend will be able to hear everything. Craig feels like he owes Tweek that much, at least. He’s suddenly feeling a little queasy, too, like his breakfast might come back up if he’s not careful. But that’s <em>ridiculous; </em> Dad’s stupid mistress does <em>not</em> get to make Craig puke.<br/>
Behind him, the coffee machine makes that whooshing sound that means Tweek is steaming more milk. A minute or so later, Tweek appears at his elbow, putting down a tall latte glass on the table, followed by a long spoon that he rests on a napkin. “Chai latte,” he whispers, with a pinched little smile that tells Craig he’s not the only one with a churning stomach. “Good luck.”<br/>
Tweek’s gone before Craig’s even got a chance to say thanks. He busies himself stirring his drink for a second – he’s had chai lattes before, of course, even though he doesn’t order them all the time. Still, Tweek must’ve worked out that they’re his favorite thing on the menu here. Craig suddenly remembers the guinea pig pyjamas, and finds himself smiling as he takes his first sip. It’s good, just the right mix of sweetness and spice.<br/>
That’s when the little bell on the glass door chimes, and of course it’s <em>her. </em> Craig’s never seen a photo, but he just knows – who else could it be, right? The Lady is all dolled up, for one thing – wearing makeup and a skirt, even though it’s so cold out. She pushes her hood back; revealing nut-brown hair piled on top of her head in a carefully sculpted knot, before she shrugs out of her black fur-lined puffer-coat and drapes it over one arm. Brown hair, and her skirt and cardigan are both different shades of beige – it’s like Dad deliberately went looking for the exact opposite of Mom, who dyes her hair blonde and loves to wear green. Is she prettier than Mom? She’s younger, that’s for sure, but Craig honestly can’t decide if she’s prettier or not.<br/>
The Lady looks around, searching for Dad of course, so she doesn’t seem to register Craig at once. But Dad must have shown her a photo, or maybe mentioned how he always wears his hat, because when she does spot him, the color seems to drain out of The Lady’s face.<br/>
For a moment or two, they stare at each other across the empty coffee shop. Craig clenches his fists, nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms. The hell if he’s going to be the one who looks away first.<br/>
Finally, The Lady breaks eye-contact, forcing a laugh out between her perfectly even white teeth. Then she crosses the distance between them, her heeled boots clicking on the floor. She places her hands on the backrest of the chair that’s still free, and Craig can’t help but notice that even her nails have been painted beige.<br/>
“Hello,” The Lady says. She isn’t smiling. “You must be Craig.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Like you were always mine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I just want to shout out a huge "thank you" to sonofthanatos for all the help with plotting and whipping this fic into shape - you'd be reading a very different story otherwise!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Looking his father’s mistress in the eye might just be the hardest thing Craig has ever done. “Yes,” he says, and it doesn’t matter if his voice is a little loud; there are no other customers in here after all.<br/>
“Well!” The Lady flashes a bright smile at him, so full of fake cheer that Craig’s hatred for her instantly skyrockets. “I suppose you want to talk, is that it?”<br/>
“Yes,” Craig says again, before he shifts his eyes to the empty chair opposite his own. <em>Sit the hell down, </em> he thinks, but The Lady can’t seem to take a hint.<br/>
“Hello there,” she coos at Tweek, walking over to the counter, click-click-click. “Aren’t you the youngest barista I’ve ever seen?”<br/>
Does she suspect? It’s impossible to tell, but of course he words make Tweek even more nervous.<br/>
“Gah!” Tweek stares at her, wild-eyed and bushy-haired. “The card machine’s broken, and my mom got sick, and my dad’s just driving her home and gah! What if she’s actually pregnant?! I don’t want a brother or sister! I’d have to be a good example to them, that’s <em>way</em> too much pressure!”<br/>
The Lady appears to go on pause for a second, while she sort of mentally rewinds what Tweek has said. “Okay,” she says at last. “Well, at least I have cash.”<br/>
“Oh thank <em>God,”</em> Tweek exclaims, slumping over the counter in relief. Then he jerks bolt upright, abruptly enough to make The Lady take a step back. “I mean, gnk, what can I get you?!”<br/>
“I’ll have a large cappuccino,” The Lady says, and her engagement ring flashes in the overhead lights as she pulls a long, slim leather wallet out of her purse. From the way she handles it, you can just <em>tell</em> that’s an expensive bag. Did The Lady save up for that thing, or did her husband buy it for her? Not to mention how that diamond in her ring is like, the size of a smallish <em>marble. </em> How bored must this rich lady <em>be, </em> to hang out with Craig’s broke-ass, balding Dad?<br/>
“Craig,” The Lady says, and something in her tone tells him she’s repeating herself; she’s said his name already while he was spacing out. “I <em>said, </em> why don’t I get you a slice of cake.” Tweek’s only put a handful of baked goods out in the glass case, just for show, and most of them are probably stale.<br/>
“No-thank-you,” Craig replies, as tonelessly as he can manage. What he <em>wants</em> to say is, I don’t want anything from <em>you. </em> But no, that would be a mistake. He needs to keep it together; because it feels like, like if he shows this woman the <em>tiniest</em> bit of emotion, he will have lost.<br/>
The Lady orders, and pays for, a slice of chocolate cake for him anyway. Tweek sticks it in the microwave at the back while he’s making The Lady’s drink.<br/>
“Please, ngh, have a seat?! And I’ll bring them right over!”<br/>
“Why, thank you,” The Lady coos, putting a twenty-dollar note down on the counter. “And you’re adorable, just keep the change.”<br/>
Tweek completely freezes up, his eyes rolling, his breath hitching, until he finally manages to croak out a weak “Thanks”.<br/>
The Lady saunters back to Craig’s table, her heels going click-click-click on the floor. There is a huge, fake smile stretched firmly across her face now. “I assume,” she says, as she lifts the spare chair out from under the table, “That you’re here to tell me this affair has <em>got</em> to end?”<br/>
In spite of his best efforts, Craig can feel his upper lip start to curl. The way she’s trying to turn this into one big joke makes him hate her even more. The way she’s trying to make him feel small. He closes his eyes for a second, gets his breathing under control. “Yes,” he tells her flatly.<br/>
The Lady freezes up for a second, her mouth open in a small “O”. Then suddenly, she plops her butt right down on the chair and laughs, loud and shrill. “You are <em>such</em> a little robot,” she exclaims, with one hand on her chest like she’s pretending that Craig’s the cutest thing she’s ever seen, “<em>Just</em> like he said.”<br/>
Those words seem to squeeze all the air right out of him. Even his vision goes blurry for a second.<br/>
“Here.” There’s the clink of a plate, as Tweek puts the piece of chocolate cake down in front of Craig. The thick chocolate frosting glistens in the overhead lights, making it look like he went and put a turd on a plate. Tweek’s thoughtfully placed a small fork on the side of the plate, but Craig has never felt less inclined to eat anything in his life.<br/>
“So why are <em>you</em> cheating with him,” Craig finally makes himself say. He wraps his hands around his own drink, that tall latte glass still halfway full of hot, spicy chai, and somehow that helps. Somehow, the warmth grounds him, helps him breathe with his stomach.<br/>
The Lady laughs again, but now he can hear how forced that laugh is. How uncomfortable she really is with all this. “Children can never understand their parents,” she replies, and now The Lady sounds almost… accusing. “Not as human beings,” she goes on, “You just see them as, as the people who can get you the <em>stuff</em> you want. A hotdog, a new toy. Whatever Nintendo bullshit is in <em>this</em> week.”<br/>
“Really,” Craig says, and somehow his voice stays even. When was the last time <em>he</em> ever asked Dad for things like that? After all, he <em>knows</em> about the mortgage and all that stuff. Even Tricia knows better, and she’s only <em>little. </em><br/>
“And when you’ve been married for a while,” The Lady goes on, with increasing bitterness in her voice, in between sips of her drink. “It’s the same thing – all these <em>expectations. </em> All that <em>nagging. </em> I swear, the only times your dad could <em>relax, </em> was when he was with me.”<br/>
“And which motel would that have been in?” That slips out before he can stop himself, but Craig quickly realizes that he isn’t sorry at all.<br/>
“You little shit.” As soon as she’s given up pretending to find this funny; The Lady sort of… stops being so pretty. Her whole face tightens up, and her eyes narrow into thin, menacing slits. “Why did you even trick me into coming here? I suppose you hacked his account.”<br/>
“No,” Craig tells her flatly, “I didn’t. His password was my birthday.”<br/>
The Lady has no answer for that. She just looks at him for a minute, before she puts her empty cup on the saucer and stands up. She slides her purse over her arm, straightens her skirt without actually looking at what she’s doing. Her eyes bore into Craig’s instead, glowering with what feels a lot like resentment.<br/>
“There’s no need to make him choose,” she says at last. “I wouldn’t do that to him.”<br/>
Then she turns her back on him and walks away, out through the door and into the snow. Craig is left staring after her, and when he finally remembers to drink the rest of his chai latte, he realizes it’s gone cold.<br/>
“You’re not a robot.”<br/>
“Huh?” Truth be told, Craig had almost forgotten that Tweek was even there – he can’t remember Tweek <em>ever</em> being that quiet before.<br/>
Tweek slips out from behind the counter and walks up to him, arms folded, hands shaking. “You’re not a robot,” he repeats, and his voice is all fierce, his gaze so direct that Craig suddenly can’t meet his eyes at all.<br/>
“But,” Craig says, and draws a long, shaky breath. “But my dad said –”<br/>
“Your dad wouldn’t <em>say</em> something like that,” Tweek insists. “He wouldn’t even think it, okay? She was just saying that to mess with you.”<br/>
There’s nothing Craig wants more than to believe him. “Okay,” he says, closing his eyes for a second. “Uh,” he jerks his head at the piece of cake, “Honey? I don’t think I can eat this.” What he means is that he’d rather die than eat it, and Tweek seems to get that.<br/>
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, reaching past Craig to pick the plate up.<br/>
Tweek starts walking back towards the counter, but Craig suddenly finds that he can’t move at all. “Robots don’t eat,” he says, and it was <em>meant</em> to be a joke.<br/>
Tweek literally growls when he turns around. “Dude,” he snaps, “If you say the word “robot” one more time, I… I <em>swear</em> I’m gonna break your nose again!” He’s not kidding, either. That’s what finally makes Craig’s shoulders drop.<br/>
“Okay,” he says, and he even manages to smile a little. “Thanks, babe.” </p><p> So then, they wipe down the surfaces, and put the mugs and things in the industrial dishwasher, which already has a few things in it from yesterday’s closing shift, so it’ll be totally inconspicuous. Or so he hopes. Tweek can’t shake the feeling that his parents will just <em>look</em> at him when they get home, and <em>know</em> what he did. Not to mention there’s the risk of running into them on their way to the Bijou if he and Craig linger for too long. Matines usually don’t start until one-thirty, but it’s already quarter past twelve! He makes sure to remove the surplus cash from the till float, too, before ripping his improvised “out of order” sign off of the card machine, and crumpling the piece of paper into his pocket. Tweek even puts Craig’s unwanted piece of cake in a takeaway bag, since he can’t very well put that back in the fridge with the rest of the pastries now.<br/>
Finally, when Tweek can’t think of a single thing they need to put back, they lock up the shop. Then, he and Craig go for a walk, Tweek still with that takeaway bag dangling from one hand. They don’t really talk much, aside from Craig trying to convince Tweek to just keep The Lady’s twenty.<br/>
“Ngh, no way, man!” Tweek shakes his head hard enough to make himself dizzy. “That stuff’s bad karma! It’s bad enough I’m lying to my parents already, gah!”<br/>
He’s not really allowed to go into SODOSOPA by himself, but Tweek figures he might as well add <em>that</em> to his tab of sins, too; and the hell if he actually wants to walk down to the church for this. He’s taken too much side-eye from all his Catholic classmates over the past couple of years to just saunter in there and shove The Lady’s twenty dollars into the donations box. So they skirt the edges of the rough part of town, until Tweek spots a lonely old homeless man. This guy is thin – the kind of thin people get when they don’t see much point in eating; when they spend what money they have on things other than food. His filthy old oilskin jacket just hangs off him, and the zipper seems to be broken because he’s tied it shut with a length of rope. The old man isn’t even begging, just sitting there; resting his back against that road-sign outside the U-Store-It.<br/>
Craig, who’s been in a kind of stupor since they walked out of Tweak Bros, finally seems to wake up. “Babe, no,” he mutters, grabbing for Tweek’s hand when he starts walking towards the old man. So then Tweek just winds up pulling Craig along. He feels a little bit better about this, anyway, with Craig’s big, bony hand wrapped around his own.<br/>
“Gnk! Excuse me?”<br/>
The old guy looks up, and there’s a wariness in his eyes that makes Tweek feel a little sick to his stomach. Like he’s wondering what two elementary school kids can do to hurt him. “Hello,” he says guardedly, sitting up a little straighter. Like he thinks they’re just out looking for someone to accuse of being a child molester.<br/>
“Ngh, here!” He thrusts out his arm, dangling the paper bag right under the old man’s nose; though he makes no move to take it.<br/>
“These are things I don’t need,” Tweek says, phrasing himself as carefully as he can, in case the old guy is too proud to accept handouts. Then he carefully puts the bag down on the ground, where the homeless guy can reach it, before he pulls The Lady’s twenty out of his jeans pocket. “You’d, gah, really help me out by accepting them.” Tweek now offers him the folded-up note; and it seems that money is the one thing the old guy can’t resist.<br/>
“How old are you boys,” he asks, is voice all creaky and dry, like he hasn’t talked to anyone all day.<br/>
“I’m eleven, and he’s ten,” Craig responds, with a blank stare and a voice so flat, you’d be forgiven for thinking he’s back to normal already.<br/>
“Then let me tell you something.” The homeless man leans in a little closer, and Tweek can suddenly <em>smell</em> him, which makes him reflexively jerk his head back. Because <em>Jesus. </em> “Don’t end up like me,” the old guy says, looking each of them right in the eye, Craig first, then Tweek. Then he gently plucks the money from Tweek’s fingers, before he opens the bag and makes a surprised – but happy – sound. “Chocolate cake,” he says, and for just a few seconds, his dried-out face lights right up. “I can’t remember the last time I had chocolate cake. Thank you,” he adds, aiming those last words right at Tweek.<br/>
“You’re welcome,” Tweek tells him, with a quick, nervous smile. Craig tugs on his hand a little, and Tweek takes that as his cue to turn around and start walking. When he looks over his shoulder, he can see that the old man is eating, hunched over the bag like he wants to catch every crumb. </p><p>When Tweek finally lets go of his hand, they’re standing at the end of Craig’s street. Right next to the red house on the corner; where Bebe Stevens lives. They haven’t talked at all since Tweek gave away the money to that ancient hobo, or since leaving Tweak Bros, really. It hasn’t been an awkward kind of silence, though. It’s strange, but just walking together and holding hands has calmed him down.<br/>
“Craig?” Tweek peers up at him, and Craig just <em>knows</em> what he’s about to ask.<br/>
He sighs. “I’m going to talk to my mom,” he says, because that’s the only solution that makes sense now.<br/>
“Okay.” Tweek smiles, but he still looks kind of sad. “Text me later? To tell me how it goes?”<br/>
As if there’s any doubt that this’ll go straight to hell, but whatever. “Sure,” Craig says. He probably ought to smile, but there’s no way he can. “And, uh, thanks. For… you know.”<br/>
Tweek suddenly throws his arms around him, giving him a lightning-fast hug that’s almost over before it’s even begun. “Anytime,” he says, as he pulls away. He sounds like he means it, too, even though he was so pants-shittingly nervous back then.<br/>
Before Craig can say anything else, Tweek’s hurrying away. He looks back exactly once, raising his hand in a little wave, before he leaves for real. Trudging through the snow on those short, stubby legs, hands shoved deep in his pockets because who <em>knows</em> where his gloves are.<br/>
Craig watches Tweek until he’s rounded the corner and is out of sight, before he squares his shoulders and digs out his front door key. They’re back already – Dad’s long-nosed blue Ford Station Wagon is taking up most of the driveway, and the lights are all on. It’s the weirdest feeling, though – being scared of going inside your own house.<br/>
“Hey Craig,” Mom calls out, as soon as he’s pushed the front door open. “You have fun at Tweek’s?”<br/>
Craig pauses in the middle of kicking his shoes off. His voice is literally stuck in his throat for a second. “Yeah,” he finally croaks, before he pulls his jacket off and throws it over the coatrack.<br/>
“Daddy’s just gone down to the store with Tricia,” Mom says, as Craig slinks inside the kitchen. She’s folding up paper grocery bags into neat little squares, so they must’ve hit up Safeway on the way back from Denver. “Would you believe we forgot to get eggs?”<br/>
Craig just shrugs in response. There are a lot of things Craig wouldn’t have believed, up until yesterday afternoon.<br/>
“Are you hungry?” Mom’s already popped the fridge open, and for the first time, Craig realizes that yeah, maybe he is – it’s been hours since he had that stack of pancakes at the Tweaks’ house. “I can make you a sandwich with our very last egg on top,” she offers, holding that bright white egg out between two fingers. That’s one of Mom’s many specialties, the sandwich that’ll tide you over until forever – ham and cheese with a fried egg slapped on top.<br/>
“I guess.” He looks down at his feet in the socks Tweek lent him. They’re a pale grey, but he’s not sure if they were actually <em>sold</em> in that color, of if it’s a laundry mishap. He’s got a pair of Tweek’s underpants on too – navy blue boxer shorts with little airplanes on them.<br/>
Mom has no idea. Why would she? She just goes through the motions of making him a sandwich, same as she always does. Humming to herself while she digs out the frying pan, and drops a thin slice of butter into it. It feels so wrong, so <em>fake</em> of him to just let her fry that egg up like there’s nothing wrong at all, when what he <em>knows…</em> What he knows could tear his whole family apart.<br/>
“Mom?” Craig hates it, how his voice cracks. “Can I… talk to you about something?”<br/>
“You’re talking to me right now, aren’t you,” Mom counters, pulling a slice out of the bag of pre-cut white bread and buttering it while that egg is sizzling away. She adds the ham and then the cheese, and by then the egg’s all done, a perfect sunny-side up. So Mom just plops the whole sandwich into the frying pan like she always does, and the egg goes on top with a flick of the spatula. It’s only when she’s putting the plate down on the kitchen table that Mom seems to realize something’s not right.<br/>
“Craig,” she says, “What happened?”<br/>
Damn. It’s now or never. “I found out about something,” he replies, and watches Mom’s eyes widen. What, did she know all along that Dad…?<br/>
“I should’ve known.” Mom closes her eyes for just a second, and draws a deep breath. “Your daddy’s always <em>said</em> you were too smart for your own good. I wanted to wait until you were at <em>least</em> sixteen, but… Craig,” she pulls out one of the kitchen chairs for herself, and sinks into it, “Why don’t you sit down?”<br/>
“I…” It’s easier just to do what she wants, than to try and figure out if this means Mom’s <em>okay</em> with Dad having an affair. The chair scrapes against the tiles on the floor when Craig pulls it out, but Mom doesn’t even wince.<br/>
“I just need you to understand,” Mom reaches across the table, past the plate where his forgotten ham and egg sandwich sits, her hand closing over his, “That we don’t love you any less, just because you’re adopted.”<br/>
Wait, he thinks, as the whole world seems to tilt on its axis. What?<br/>
Mom keeps on talking, but her voice sort of fades out. And Craig can just about <em>feel</em> the puzzle pieces slot together in his mind. Like how different he looks from the rest of his family, how much darker his skin is. Nobody else has black hair. And how there are no photos of Mom nursing him in hospital as a new-born, even though they’ve got loads of pictures like that with Tricia. He remembers Dad saying the hospital hadn’t offered a photographer back then, and how he’d just shrugged it off. Little things like that, that never quite added up, but weren’t serious enough to actually question.<br/>
“So where’d you get me from,” he asks, and he honestly doesn’t mean for it to come out quite so… accusing. Like he thinks his parents got him through some mail-order catalog or something.<br/>
“From Peru,” Mom says, squeezing his hand before she lets go. “Eat your sandwich, Craig, before it goes cold. I never told you this, but I volunteered at an orphanage over there, before I married your dad.” Then she taps the edge of the plate with her fingernail, click-click, and before he knows it, Craig’s picked the sandwich up and taken a bite. “I spent six months in that little village outside of Lima, while he had to wait for me back here. He’d been so keen to get married, but I’d had some bad news, and…” Mom flashes a quick, sad smile at him, “Ah, why am I keeping this a secret from you? I’d just found out I wasn’t likely to have children. I hadn’t told you dad, in fact I hadn’t told anyone.”<br/>
“But Tricia,” Craig begins, only for Mom to cut him off, because of course she knows what he’s about to say.<br/>
“Even doctors can be wrong. And it’s actually quite common for a couple to get pregnant after they adopt. Anyway, I needed some time away, so I volunteered with this church organization that ran an orphanage in Peru. That’s where I met your <em>real</em> mother,” Mom goes on, shaking her head sadly. “She was already pregnant when I got there.”<br/>
“Wait.” Craig swallows his mouthful of bread and egg. “Are you saying she was one of the <em>kids?” </em><br/>
Mom nods. “Thirteen years old. The morning after you were born, she ran away. And I found you screaming in the cot we’d put next to her empty bed. So I picked you up and held you, and you instantly stopped crying. Like you were always <em>mine,”</em> she adds, and maybe it’s a trick of the light. But Mom’s eyes suddenly look awfully shiny. “Your dad flew down a week later to surprise me, proposed to me and everything. I told him, “I’ll marry you on one condition, Thomas Tucker.” And that condition was that we’d adopt you.”<br/>
“Oh.” Craig says. His head is spinning, but one crystal-clear thought still rises above the chaos. If Mom literally blackballed Dad into adopting him … then maybe <em>that’s</em> what Dad is using, to justify cheating on her? His login <em>is</em> Craig’s birthday, after all.  </p><p> Tweek’s been alone at home for almost an hour, and it’s kind of nice; having the house to himself while Mom and Dad are out. That’s why he got on the bus as soon as he’d said goodbye to Craig – well, that and also his feet were kind of killing him. So Tweek is stretched out on the sofa playing X-Box, with his favourite green tartan mug filled to the brim with coffee, when a message finally ticks in from Craig on their private chat. <em>I couldn’t do it, </em> Craig’s text says, and Tweek has to admit he feels a little relieved.<br/>
Tweek types, <em>I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time. </em> Then he grunts, shakes his head, and deletes it. That’s not what Craig needs to hear from him. <em>Then you have to talk to your dad, </em> he writes instead, and hits Send before he can start to doubt himself.<br/>
<em>Typing…</em> It says next to Craig’s name. That word flickers, disappears, and then comes back. <em>Typing…</em> Craig writes and erases what looks like four separate replies, before he finally sends Tweek just one word: <em>OK. </em></p><p> Craig’s always felt like Tricia was Dad’s favourite. It never used to bother him <em>that</em> much, since he was always pretty sure he was <em>Mom’s,</em> but now… It’s just so obvious. Why wouldn’t he love his own kid more? Craig can hear them from the garage, laughing about something – Dad with his warm, throaty chuckle, and Tricia with that sly giggle she’ll only ever do over something <em>Dad’s</em> said. So he hops off the washing-machine – the last thing he wants is for them to think he was lying in wait for them or some stupid shit like that – just in time to look like he happened to casually saunter in here. Grunts and shrugs when Dad hands him a twelve-pack of eggs and a head of iceberg lettuce, and tells him to go put them in the fridge.<br/>
“Can you look at my algebra,” he asks, remembering how Tweek found his algebra book back at the coffee shop. Dad does help Craig with school stuff sometimes, so it’s not like it’ll sound suspicious.<br/>
“What, you actually do homework now,” Tricia drawls, while giving Craig the finger – just so she’ll beat him to it.<br/>
“Yes,” he replies calmly, tucking that head of lettuce under his arm so he can hold his own middle finger up.<br/>
Dad chuckles again, and says, “Sure, just let me go lay some eggs first,” and heads straight for the little downstairs toilet. Which is perfect, because that’s in completely the opposite direction of the kitchen, and takes him <em>away</em> from Mom, who’s in there emptying the dishwasher and just <em>waiting</em> to tell Dad how Craig’s “figured it all out on his own”.<br/>
Craig leads the way to the kitchen, with Tricia trailing after him, clutching a huge bag of toaster waffles and begging for details of his sleepover. “Did you <em>both</em> sleep in his bed,” she asks, walking close enough that she’s practically stepping on his heels, “And did you <em>spoon</em> him? Or did Tweek spoon <em>you?” </em><br/>
Craig doesn’t answer, because he knows that’ll drive his sister nuts. He normally wouldn’t go around getting her into trouble on purpose, but now he needs a diversion. That’s why he times it so that they’re just walking into the kitchen when Tricia says, “…and don’t <em>tell</em> me you and Tweek didn’t even <em>make out!” </em><br/>
“Tricia,” Mom snaps, closing the cutlery drawer with a <em>thunk, </em> so hard that everything rattles in there, “Leave your brother alone!”<br/>
While Tricia’s still getting yelled at, Craig hurries upstairs to his bedroom and yanks out his finished maths homework – all tidily copied out in pen after he’d worked everything out in pencil - from his school bag. With any luck, Mom will be too distracted to grab Dad on his way up. You can hear the toilet flush from downstairs though, so as soon as he’s heard it, Craig goes back out on the landing and shouts, “Dad, are you coming?”<br/>
“Hold your horses, Craig,” Dad yells back, and pretty soon the stairs are creaking, and Dad’s <em>right there, </em> and it’s just the two of them. And suddenly, it’s like The Lady is <em>right there</em> too, whispering in Craig’s ear; “The only times your dad could relax, was when he was with me.”<br/>
Dad doesn’t even notice that anything’s different about him, just walks into Craig’s room and drops his hand on Craig’s head on the way in. Not mussing his hair; Craig’s still wearing his hat after all. Just leaving it there for a second, but somehow, that’s enough to make Craig’s eyes sting.<br/>
Angrily rubbing his sleeve across his face, Craig follows Dad inside. He’s already sitting on the edge of Craig’s bed, with his homework open across his knees, tapping a pencil against the bridge of his nose while he reads. It’s all so familiar that Craig just can’t take it anymore.<br/>
“I met Miss Fussypants,” he says, spitting that name out like it tastes bad.<br/>
Dad sits up <em>so</em> fast, like a galvanized dead frog. His face goes all pale. For a minute, his mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, but Dad can’t seem to think of a single thing to say. Craig isn’t sure what he’d been expecting – anger, excuses – but it definitely wasn’t <em>this</em>.<br/>
“Why,” he asks, because it’s the only question that really matters. No wait, that’s a lie – there’s a second question, too. But Craig might hold that one in forever.<br/>
With the deepest sigh in the world, Dad looks up at the ceiling, like he’s collecting his thoughts. “It wasn’t because I don’t love you all,” he begins. “Even your mother. I still love her, I swear, but…”<br/>
“But?” Craig raises one eyebrow, and somehow keeps his voice level.<br/>
“I guess I just…” Dad lets out one puff of air, and gives Craig a crooked, hopeless smile, “Wanted some excitement in my life.”<br/>
Craig almost repeats the word “excitement”, but decides that really would be too robotic. “I’m sorry we’re so boring,” he says instead, and takes a mean sort of satisfaction from how that makes Dad flinch.<br/>
“I’m sorry,” Dad says, with a shrug. “Does that count for anything?” At least he doesn’t ask if Craig’s already told Mom.<br/>
Craig opens his mouth, and he’s fully intending to say that Mom’s the one he should be apologizing to. But instead, what comes out is, “Well <em>I’m</em> sorry you went and adopted a <em>robot</em>.”<br/>
What follows is the kind of silence that isn’t just about hearing a pin drop – you could hear the sound a single human hair makes, when it lands on a soft carpet. Finally, Dad says, “Who told you that?”<br/>
Forcing himself to look Dad right in the eye, Craig replies, “Mom told me I’m adopted. Your <em>girlfriend</em> told me you’d called me a – ”<br/>
“Goddamn it.” Dad’s voice is all quiet, but he brings his fist down hard on Craig’s desk, making all the pens rattle in the old Superman mug he keeps them in. “Son, I would never – she was quoting me out of context! I showed her a photo of you and Tricia, and I said, she’s my little hurricane and you’re my little robot – Craig, I <em>like</em> robots!”<br/>
Craig blinks. He’s heard Dad say that hurricane thing to Tricia a million times. There’s always at least one Asimov book on Dad’s nightstand, and he knows for a fact that Dad’s favourite Star Trek character is Mr Data. Could it really be that simple?<br/>
“Okay,” he says, and his voice has gone all shaky and thin. Craig’s not sure <em>why</em> he’s decided to believe anything Dad’s saying, not after what he’s done, except maybe that he needs to. He needs the hug, too, when Dad scoops him up on his lap – he needs <em>that</em> more that he wants to admit.<br/>
“I’m going to end it,” Dad tells him, talking into the back of Craig’s hat. “And then it’s up to you.”<br/>
Craig closes his eyes. He breathes in and then out through his nose. And he makes up his mind.  </p><p> Tweek’s made himself a jam sandwich – just one, since he knows Mom and Dad are likely to come back soon – and another cup of coffee. Hungrier than he’d realised, he’s eaten most of it when he hears the doorbell ring, just once, and chokes on the last mouthful.<br/>
“Gah! I’m coming, I’m sorry!” Tweek hurtles himself off the sofa and runs out of the living room so fast, he almost smacks face-first into the door. Once he’s pulled off the safety chain and unlocked it, he carefully pulls it open just a crack – in case it’s Mormons – and then yelps in shock as Craig barrels into him. Craig ends up pushing them both inside the hallway, his fingers wrapped around Tweek’s shoulders, and the door closes with a loud crack behind them. Suddenly, Craig’s left hand slides up into Tweek’s hair, cupping the back of his head. Holding Tweek still while he clumsily mashes their lips together; and Tweek’s stomach does a summersault. Because he’s been wondering if Craig even <em>likes</em> holding his hand, or if he does it because he feels like he has to. Because no amount of coffee could ever make his heart beat this fast.<br/>
“I’m okay,” Craig tells him, after he’s finally pulled away. Although his voice is as monotone as always; his eyes are kind of wild. “I talked to my dad, and he’s calling her right now from the car to break up. And we’re not gonna tell my mom, <em>or</em> my sister, because he’s not gonna do it again, and I accidentally found out I’m adopted. But I’m okay,” he repeats, before he draws a deep breath. “I think.”<br/>
Tweek can feel his mouth slide open. “Oh,” he says, as he brings a hand up to touch his bottom lip. It still feels kind of tingly. “So that’s why you…” He can’t quite make himself say it, in case it comes out sounding completely awful. But Craig seems to read his mind anyway.<br/>
“Don’t look like them at all? Yeah, that’s why.” For the first time since he barged in here, Craig smiles. “Turns out I’m from Peru.”<br/>
“So,” the relief is strong enough to make Tweek’s head spin, because Craig really does seem to be okay, “I’ve got a Latino boyfriend. That’s cool, I guess.” He grins, to show Craig that he’s teasing.<br/>
“I can’t wait for Cartman to start saying I’ve been “passing for white”,” Craig deadpans, and lets go of Tweek so he can do that air-quote thing with his fingers.<br/>
“Then I’ll break <em>his</em> nose,” Tweek promises, dead serious.<br/>
Finally, Craig cracks smile. “Like I said,” he drawls, “I can’t wait.” Then he starts to walk back towards the front door, even though Tweek <em>really</em> wouldn’t mind it if he stuck around, because holy <em>crap</em> that was his first kiss, and probably Craig’s too, right? “Dad should’ve dumped her by now,” Craig’s saying, as he makes a grab for the handle – and suddenly, Tweek can’t take it anymore.<br/>
Catching Craig by the crook of his elbow, Tweek yells, “You kissed me!”<br/>
“Yeah.” Craig drops his gaze to the floor, and you’d have to know him really well to see how nervous he suddenly is, because he doesn’t even scuff the doormat with the toe of his shoe. “I did, huh?”<br/>
“Can’t we – ngh! – can’t we do it again?!”<br/>
Craig looks up, and lets out a relieved huff of laughter. “Okay,” he says, before he puckers up and closes his eyes. His shoulders are shaking, even though he doesn’t make a sound, and there’s a huge smirk on his face.<br/>
“Gah! You asshole,” Tweek says, and how can he even feel so fond and exasperated and giddy, all at once? He carefully presses his chapped, scratchy lips against Craig’s, and first it’s just teeth clicking against teeth, as they both try to copy the kisses they’ve seen on TV. But after a little while, they both seem to figure it out at the same time, and Tweek decides that <em>this, </em> this is kind of nice.<br/>
“What’d you eat,” Craig asks him, when they finally pull apart, “Before I kissed you?”<br/>
Tweek blinks. “Uh?” He honestly has to think hard before he remembers. “Jam sandwich? And I had coffee,” he adds, in case that makes a difference.<br/>
“That makes sense,” Craig says, all matter-of-factly. “Sweet and sour.” He’s still smiling though, as he pushes the door open. “See you in school tomorrow, babe?”<br/>
How can he sound so casual, Tweek wonders, when he’s just opened up a whole other door – a metaphorical kind of door that might lead to things like cuddling for real while they’re watching a movie, or even riding the bus, instead of just holding hands? When he’s got Tweek thinking about where in <em>school</em> they might be able to hide, so they can kiss some more – in that janitor’s closet outside the gym? Or behind the bike shed, if there aren’t any sixth-graders around? “Okay,” he says, and realizes that he’s smiling too. “See you tomorrow, Craig.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>